What If
by Empress Slytherin
Summary: What if Harry had taken Draco's hand, that day on the train? Would he still be the same person that we know today? Rating to go up.


**Hey guys!**

 **I had a dream about this, so naturally I had to write it. Don't forget to read and review! Rated T to be safe**

 **Summary: What if Harry had taken Draco's hand, that day on the train? What if Harry wasn't friends with Ron and Hermione, but Draco and Blaise? What if Harry didn't like Dumbledore? When Draco dies and travels back in time, he learns the answer to all of those questions and more.**

 **Warning: Dumbledore bashing, Hermione bashing, Weasley's bashing**

 **What If**

Chapter One

Draco lay on his bed, wheezing. His time had come. At last. Too bad there was no one here to hold his hand while he died no one to sit by his bedside table and look worried as he coughed his way to oblivion. Too bad that he had not even a house elf here with him to take care of him where he himself couldn't, all courtesy of that wonderful mudblood Granger. After the war had ended, she had used her newfound popularity to pass laws that would free house elves. After all, no one could ever say no to one of the Golden Trio.

Not that the house elves wanted to be freed. None of them did, in fact. Shortly after the law was passed, they decided to volunteer to work for their former owners and masters. The mudblood then dropped the huge bombshell. Draco still remembered that day.

 _The Minister of Magic and the Wizengamot formally decree that:_

 _If you currently have a house elf working for you, you must pay them the approved price of 1 knut per hour of work that they do for you,_

 _They are to be treated as a guest in your home(s), and must be taken care of accordingly,_

 _They are to have sick leave and vacations,_

 _They may at any time choose to stop working,_

 _The normal rules which protect employees protect them, and any failure to obey these rules will result in a fine of 100 galleons per infraction,_

 _They are not to be referred to as house elf, but by their given name,_

 _You must thank them as you would a human, and treat them accordingly, with the same amount of courtesy and respect,_

 _And, in closing, they may never do any menial/hard/tiring/potential injury jobs that you might give them._

 _The Ministry of Magic wishes you a wonderful day._

 _Thank You!_

 _The fines paid will benefit the Potter-Weasley foundation._

Stupid mudblood. Sometimes she just didn't know when to stop. The next day, a horde of enraged house elves had attacked her while she was walking in Diagon Alley, to which the Ministry had responded by forbidding house elves to work for the families of former death eaters, because surely they had ordered that attack on the filthy mudblood. Obviously, they would never attack the one who gave them freedom from slavery.

Draco chuckled, immediately regretting it as his chest hurt horribly and he coughed and coughed until he had no energy to continue. And continued coughing.

It hurt so terribly. He just wished it would stop. The world was not necessarily a better place, now that Lord Voldemort had gone. After all, people were still being suppressed, just not the same people. He supposed that good and evil were just a myth, because the victors wrote the history books, not the losers. Sometimes he wondered, what it would have been like, if Potter had taken his hand on the train. Would Potter still be in Gryffindor?

And now that he was on the subject of Potter, it hurt to see him with the Weaselette, looking as happy as he had no right to be, after condemning hundreds of children to no life, family, or happiness. It hurt to see him with a big happy family, adored by all, whereas when he, Draco Lucius Malfoy had gone to the apothecary when he had first gotten sick, only to be met with a stupid woman who had refused to serve a former death eater, even when the ministry had stepped in. It took Potter, the Golden boy, to get her to sell the medicine he needed, and even then, it was at an outrageous price. It didn't even work.

He supposed he was bitter over owing so much to Potter.

He was dying. There was no question about it. The only question was when.

He slowly drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a world where Potter had taken his hand. A world where Potter had allied with the Dark Lord, not the miserable old coot Dumbledore.

He woke to the sound of a voice.

"My child, at last, you have arrived!"

That certainly startled him, to say the least. "Wait… Where am I?" He was astounded to find that there was no coughing following that sentence, as there had been for weeks now.

He looked around, noticing that he was in a room that looked suspiciously like King's Cross.

"What happened to me? Who are you? What am I doing here?"

"I am Abraxas Malfoy, your grandfather. I have been waiting for you for a very long time."

For the first time, Draco could proudly say, in a lifetime, even though he had come very close at the sight of the law that Granger had passed, he fainted dead away.

When he came to, he was staring at a pair of familiar gray eyes, that, with a jolt, he realized he had seen on his father. "So…I suppose that I am dead?"

"Oh, most definitely. But, unlike most others, you have a choice. You can continue on, living in the next world in paradise, or you can be reborn into your younger self, and hopefully change the world for the better. Basically, a future of pain and possibility, or one of security and sameness."

Draco thought about it for a second. "So…hypothetically, if I took the second chance, what would I be doing?"

Both of them knew Draco had already decided to go, but Abraxas decided to humor him.

"Well, you would first have to make sure that the Lord Voldemort wins the war, which Harry Potter joins him in, ruling by his side. Also, make sure that he feels no affection for mudbloods, muggles or blood traitors. Try to get him sorted into Slytherin, and become his friend. Most of all, he needs to love who he is fated to, and make sure that Dumbledore doesn't get his dirty little paws into him. That's basically it for now, but if you choose to go, I will visit you occasionally in your dreams."

Draco was pretty much sure that he was going, but he still had one last question. "If I, hypothetically, choose to go, how old would I be, and would I retain all my previous knowledge?"

"Of course, what did you think? I would never let my grandson go unarmed into enemy territory!"

The strategic terms made Draco frown. "You were Voldemort's main tactician in the first Wizarding war, weren't you?"

"Of course, what did you think?"

"Then, count me in. Anything to rid the world of mudbloods like Granger."

"Brilliant." Abraxas snapped his fingers, and suddenly Draco's world turned dark. As he faded into unconsciousness, he suddenly remembered that Abraxas had never replied to his question about how old he would be.

In Malfoy Manor, July 31st, 1990, Draco Lucius Malfoy curled up into a tiny ball to try to ease the sudden pain.

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Please read and review and stuff.**


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